by Betty Neels
He had got to his feet and pulled out a chair, and she saw that he was wearing a grey sweater and corduroy trousers. ‘You’ve been up all night,’ she observed, and indeed he looked tired; he had showered, but there were lines in his face which she hadn’t seen before. ‘I hope you will go straight to bed when you’ve had your breakfast.’
Mr ter Breukel, who had other plans, said that yes, he would, in a meek voice, and pushed the coffee pot towards her.
Sarah said in her practical way, ‘Shouldn’t you be at your own home?’
He had forgotten how tired he was; he looked into the future and saw with deep satisfaction homecomings in the small hours to Sarah’s wifely concern.
‘Indeed I should, but it seemed a good opportunity to see you about your mother and stepfather’s transfer to England. It has been arranged for Tuesday—that gives you three days to carry out any plans you may have made. Your stepfather will need to travel by ambulance, and your mother can go with him. You will fly from Schiphol and an ambulance will collect you at Heathrow and get you home to Clapham. You will be travelling with them, of course. Someone will come for you on Tuesday morning at eight o’clock.’
Sarah didn’t speak for a bit; she was battling with the sudden fright that she wasn’t going to see him again. She choked it down and said gruffly, ‘Thank you for making all the arrangements; we’re very much in your debt. We’re very grateful.’ Well, she was; she wasn’t sure about her mother and stepfather. ‘I’ll be ready, and if there’s anything I should do, will someone let me know? And what about your great-aunt? I’ve loved being with her, and she does need someone, you know…’
Mr ter Breukel buttered a roll lavishly. ‘It is amazing how things arrange themselves,’ he observed blandly. ‘Juffrouw Telle phoned last night to say that she would be returning on Monday evening.’
‘Her mother’s better? I’m glad, and how provi…’
‘…dential,’ finished Mr ter Breukel. ‘Great-Aunt has enjoyed your company and you have been a great help to us. I’m only sorry you haven’t had more time to see Holland.’
‘I had a lovely day with you,’ said Sarah. ‘I shall remember it always.’ She added hastily, in case he thought she meant him and his company, ‘The country was delightful.’
He kept a straight face while he watched the colour wash over her cheeks. To have accompanied her to England would have been a delight, but he had decided against. First let her return to her own home; there was always the possibility that, viewed from the other side of the North Sea, their growing friendship might dwindle into a vague interlude. That was something he would have to discover later.
He smiled gently. ‘Yes, it was a delightful day.’ And five minutes later he was leaving, with the casual remark that he would see her before she left Arnhem.
‘And go to bed—just for an hour or two,’ said Sarah, in such a concerned voice that he was tempted to pick her up and kiss her. But he didn’t, and bed, as far as he could see, was something to be deferred until he had dealt with his patients. So he smiled, patted her on a shoulder and was gone.
Sarah, visiting her mother later that day, found her in a state of excitement and with numerous requests to Sarah which she hadn’t a hope of fulfilling. She pointed out that once they were home her mother could buy the things she declared she must have, that there was no need to be made up, have her hair done or send Sarah to buy the host of small unnecessary articles she required.
‘Of course you would say that,’ declared Mrs Holt crossly. ‘The smallest thing I ask you to do for me and you have a reason for not doing it.’
She turned a shoulder to Sarah. ‘You had better go and see your stepfather and see if he needs anything. And you’re not to leave me on the journey. I feel ill at the very thought of it.’
Come to think of it, thought Sarah, I feel ill too…
Her stepfather did nothing to improve matters; he queried and argued about every arrangement made for his transfer, and grumbled that his car, which had been transported back to Clapham, was no doubt damaged beyond repair and that no one had seen fit to give him any information about it. He grumbled, too, at the expense of the ambulance, the special arrangements which had been made at the airports—indeed there was nothing about which he didn’t grumble!
And Sarah made it worse by asking him for money to buy a thank-you gift for the nursing staff. She waited stoically while he vented his rage at the very idea, and then said, ‘I should think about a hundred gulden would do—for a really handsome box of chocolates they can share around.’
There was no sign of Mr ter Breukel on Tuesday morning; her farewells said, Sarah was driven away to the hospital and found the ambulance already there. Her stepfather was already in it; she could hear his irate voice complaining bitterly about something—a useless exercise as everyone there was occupied with getting Mrs Holt into the ambulance in her turn. Now that she was actually leaving she had become a bundle of doubts, and it was only when Sarah arrived that she would consent to get into the ambulance.
Sarah went round the small group of nurses and the two ward sisters, uttering thanks and offering the chocolates. They must be glad to see the back of us, she reflected, dragging out her goodbyes for as long as possible, just in case Mr ter Breukel should come.
There was no reason why he should; Suzanne had wished her goodbye on the previous evening, and they had parted with mutual regret that their friendship would have to end. She would have liked to have said goodbye to Mr ter Breukel, too, although she didn’t think that he would feel any regret…
She couldn’t spin the time out any longer, and went round to the front of the ambulance; she was to sit with the driver so that the paramedic with him could travel with her mother and stepfather. She reached up to open the door, and Mr ter Breukel’s large hand lifted her hand away and opened it for her.
‘Have a safe journey,’ he told her. ‘Make sure that you get all the documents before you board the plane, the driver will let you have them at Schiphol. I’ve written to your doctor, of course, and sent the X-rays to him; if he needs to know anything further he can reach me here.’
Sarah nodded. Now that she was actually seeing him for the last time she could think of nothing to say. If only she could think of something which would remind him of her—she frowned fiercely at the ridiculous idea and offered a hand. She said, ‘Thank you for all that you have done. Everyone has been so kind and we must have been a nuisance…’
He didn’t deny that, but said, ‘You have been happy here, despite the circumstances?’
‘Yes, oh, yes.’
He smiled then, still holding her hand, and then gave it back to her and opened the door. Sarah whispered, ‘Goodbye,’ and got in, because there was nothing else that she could do. She could have got out again, of course, and refused to go, causing confusion and embarrassment to everyone there. For one wild moment she considered this, but only for a moment. She smiled and waved and was driven away, back to Clapham.
The journey went smoothly, despite untold hold-ups and complaints from the Holts, and they arrived in the late afternoon to find Mrs Twist, the housekeeper, waiting for them.
This was by far the hardest part of the journey for Sarah. She had coped well enough with documents, passports, various officials, her mother’s endless demands and her stepfather’s rantings, but now, once more in their own house, they both demanded instant attention.
Her mother wished to be put to bed immediately, and cosseted with a light meal, the male nurse who had been engaged to attend to Mr Holt hadn’t arrived, and although Mr Holt was quite able to do a good deal for himself he also demanded assistance, and Mrs Twist, good soul though she was, found it all a bit too much and retired to the kitchen in tears.
It was long past midnight by the time the house was at last quiet and Sarah could take herself off to bed. The nurse hadn’t turned up. It was to be hoped that he would arrive in the morning…
Dr Benson came first. Mrs Twist and Sarah had j
ust finished dealing with breakfast, and Sarah, who had known him for some years, welcomed him with open arms, handed over the various letters and papers she had been given and then went to admit the nurse. He was a sober, middle-aged man, who looked capable of dealing with her stepfather’s ill temper. He would come each day, he told her, for a couple of hours in the morning and again in the early evening.
Which left a good deal of the day during which Mr Holt would expect attention. But now that her mother was well again she could perhaps be persuaded to spend an hour or two with him each afternoon, thought Sarah hopefully.
They settled down to an uneasy routine, for Mrs Holt couldn’t be relied upon to keep to any routine, and was liable to go off for an afternoon’s shopping in a taxi without warning anyone, returning exhausted and demanding Sarah’s instant attention.
It was on Dr Benson’s third visit that he brought his partner with him: Robert Swift, a young man with a cheerful face and a friendly way with him.
Over a cup of coffee, after visiting his patient, he told Sarah that he intended to stay in Clapham. ‘I’ve got rooms here,’ he told her, ‘but I’m getting married next year and we’ve got our eyes on a rather nice flat close to the Common. We’re both Londoners and Jennie likes it here. I’m jolly lucky to be taken on as Dr Benson’s partner.’
Sarah liked him and listened, whenever he called, to his hopes for the future while he drank the coffee she always had ready for him.
They had been back a week when he suggested that she might like to go with him to see the flat he hoped to buy. ‘I told Jennie about you,’ he told her ingenuously. ‘She’s gone up to Yorkshire to nurse an aunt. You’ve lived here for a few years, haven’t you, so you would know if it’s in a decent part of Clapham. We want somewhere nice; I don’t want Jennie to work when we’re married.’
‘I’d love to come. It would have to be when Kenneth’s here—but the morning’s no good for you, is it? He comes back each afternoon about five o’clock and stays for two hours.’
‘Suits me! How about tomorrow? It’s my half-day.’ He gave her a friendly look. ‘You don’t get much time to yourself, do you?’
‘Not just at the moment, but my stepfather is to have crutches very soon, and that will be a lot easier.’
A statement not to be believed for one moment. Mr Holt on crutches would be a menace, going round the house, interfering with all and sundry. Now, more or less chained to his bed, he had to be content to supervise his business by telephone, and an occasional visit from one of his underlings, but once up and about there would be no holding him. He wouldn’t be able to drive the new car which had replaced the damaged one, which meant that Sarah would be expected to chauffeur him if he took a fancy to go to the office. And that would annoy her mother, who regarded her as an unpaid companion.
She must escape, but how?
Robert Swift arrived punctually the next day, and since Kenneth was already in the house Sarah went away to put on her outdoor things, find her mother and explain that she would be back within the hour. Robert was waiting in the hall and they went to the door together. It was a rather hideous door, with coloured glass panels and a loud bell. Somebody was ringing it now; she opened the door, laughing at something Robert had said as she did so.
Mr ter Breukel stood there.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ cried Sarah. ‘Oh, I never expected…!’ Delight at the sight of him had taken her breath.
Mr ter Breukel said, in a calm voice which allowed none of his feelings to show, ‘Hello, Sarah. I’m over here for a short while and thought I would look you up, but I see I’ve called at an awkward time. Don’t let me keep you.’
‘You’re not—that is, we’re only going to look at a flat. This is Dr Swift.’ She looked at Robert. ‘Mr ter Breukel is a consultant surgeon at the hospital where my stepfather and mother were…’
Mr ter Breukel offered a hand. ‘They’re doing well, I hope?’
‘Yes—I’m only Dr Benson’s junior partner, sir. Did you wish to see them? I’m sure Dr Benson…’
‘No, no. I’ll be phoning him before I go back to Holland. I’m sure they are in excellent hands.’
He smiled down at Sarah. ‘I’m glad to see you looking so well and happy, Sarah. Suzanne sent her love.’
‘She did? You’ll come and see us before you go?’
He said smoothly, ‘I doubt if I’ll have the time. And I mustn’t keep you from viewing this flat.’ He looked at Robert. ‘You intend to settle here?’
‘Oh, yes. We both know this part of London well, and it’s a splendid practice.’
Mr ter Breukel offered a hand again. ‘Then I must wish you a happy future. And you too, of course, Sarah.’ He smiled. ‘It didn’t take you long to discover that Clapham has its advantages over Arnhem.’
His handshake was brief, and she was still gathering her woolly wits together when he turned, walked down the short drive, got into his car and drove away.
‘He seems a nice chap,’ said Robert. ‘Not so young, of course. But good at his job, I dare say.’
Sarah swallowed the tears which had kept her silent. ‘He’s very nice, and he’s quite young and very clever. Shall we go? I mustn’t be away for too long.’
Robert was too full of his own plans to notice her silence. She admired the flat, agreed that it was in a good neighbourhood and would make a perfect home for his Jennie, and presently he drove her back.
‘I won’t ask you in,’ she told him at the door. ‘Mother expects me to see to her supper and help get her ready for bed.’
‘Of course. But surely Mrs Holt feels quite fit again?’
‘Well, yes, Dr Benson says she’s very well, but she—she suffers from her nerves and likes someone to—to be with her…’
Robert gave her a thoughtful look. ‘A companion sounds the right answer to that. Wouldn’t you like to be independent—find a job?’
‘Very much, but it’s not very easy at the moment. Perhaps when my stepfather is quite recovered.’ She added, in a bitter little voice, ‘But, you see, I’m not trained for anything.’
‘There are dozens of things you could do—a few months’ training at whatever you choose and you’re on your way.’
‘You’re right, Robert, and I’ll see what I can do about it. You must think me a very spineless person.’
‘No, you’re a dutiful daughter tied by the leg.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘You have nice legs too. Goodbye, Sarah, I’ll be in some time tomorrow.’
Sarah managed not to think too much about Mr ter Breukel that evening, but later, in bed, lying awake thinking about him, going over their brief meeting word for word, she was quite suddenly struck by an appalling thought, He had asked about Robert’s flat, but Robert hadn’t mentioned his Jennie, and then Mr ter Breukel had wished them both a happy future, and that would explain his remark about her liking Clapham better than Arnhem.
He thought that she and Robert were going to marry. What must he think of her after she had told him so plainly that she had no plans to marry, no boyfriend, and had let him see that she liked him?
And she had no idea where he was; she couldn’t write and explain, let alone go and see him. He was in London, she supposed, but London was vast…She told herself to be sensible, and to think sensibly too. Presently she got out of bed and searched through her handbag. Sure enough, Suzanne had written down her phone number. ‘So that we can give each other a ring from time to time,’ she had said. And I will, decided Sarah, as soon as possible in the morning.
She got back into bed, and presently cried herself to sleep.
Breakfast dealt with, she went to her stepfather’s study and dialled Suzanne’s number. ‘It’s me,’ she said in answer to a sleepy hello. ‘Sarah. Mr ter…that is, your brother came to see us yesterday, only I was just going out and I—I wanted to see him but he went away and I don’t know where he is. If I did I could go and see him or phone him…’
She wasn’t being very sensible; Suzanne must think she wa
s being silly.
Suzanne, who had known that Litrik was going to England, added two and two together and made five before Sarah could speak again.
‘He’s in London for several days. I’ll give you his number and his address, and he’ll be at two or three hospitals. Wait while I get my pocketbook.’
She read out the numbers, added addresses and advised Sarah to go and see him. ‘You know how it is if you phone. Some dragon tells you he isn’t there or he’s engaged with a patient. That first address I gave you is the most likely—he’ll be seeing private patients there in the mornings between nine o’clock and noon while he’s in London. Nice to hear from you, Sarah.’
Her mother didn’t take kindly to the idea of Sarah going off at a moment’s notice that morning, but Sarah went all the same. She hadn’t enough money for a taxi, and anyway her mother would want to know exactly why she needed to go somewhere in such a hurry, but the rush hour was over and a bus shouldn’t take too long. However, she had reckoned without an unkind Fate; an accident held up the traffic, buses were diverted…She reached the hospital at five minutes to twelve, and by the time she had asked her way to the wing used for consulting rooms it was five past the hour. And Mr ter Breukel, she was told, had been gone for five minutes.
‘You don’t know where?’ asked Sarah of the receptionist.
The girl unwrapped a chocolate bar and took a bite. ‘No idea. He won’t be here in the hospital again today. You’re not a patient?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘No—I—it doesn’t matter.’
So she went back home and, being a girl who liked to finish what she had started, studied the phone numbers and addresses Suzanne had given her. She decided against ringing him up—either one talked too much or too little on the phone—but there was a likely address. She looked it up on the street map in her stepfather’s study and decided that it must be a private house, close to Harley Street. Either he would have rooms there or it was a service flat. If he was working he would hardly be at a hotel.